


Would Things Be Easier if There Was a Right Way (Honey, There is No Right Way)

by justkisa



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 07:19:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11412984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justkisa/pseuds/justkisa
Summary: Paulo invites Dries to a threesome with him and Gonzalo. He doesn't tell Gonzalo about it until Dries gets there. Things go both better and worse than one might expect.





	Would Things Be Easier if There Was a Right Way (Honey, There is No Right Way)

**Author's Note:**

> The setting is a bit hand-waved here. It's set around some (probably never going to happen) future Belgium/Argentina friendly match.

Gonzalo doesn’t look up from his phone at the first knock on the door. After the second knock, he looks up and says to Paulo, who’s sprawled diagonally across the bed closest to the door, “Aren’t you going to get the door?” 

Paulo wrinkles his nose, changes the channel for the fifteenth time in as many minutes, and says, “Can’t you?” 

Gonzalo considers whether arguing about it is worth his time, decides it’s really not, puts his phone on the bedside table, and gets up. He shuffles over to the door but doesn’t make it there fast enough to stave off a third, decidedly more impatient, burst of knocking. He jerks open the door and opens his mouth ready to tell off whichever of his teammates is there. He closes his mouth with a snap when he sees who’s standing on the other side. 

He stares, for a moment, at Dries, blinks to make sure he’s not seeing things. He’s not. Dries is standing there in front of the doorway, wearing his Belgium national team branded shirt and track pants and a gray hoodie which Gonzalo is ninety percent sure is his. 

“So,” Dries says, “You going to let me in? Or are we going to stand here until someone comes along to ask what the fuck I’m doing here?”

Gonzalo steps back from the door. Dries smiles, tight and close-mouthed, and steps into the room. The door slams shut behind him. 

“Dries,” Gonzalo says, “Uh—“ And stops. Because _what the fuck?_.

Dries leans in and hugs him. Gonzalo doesn’t think. He just curls his arms around Dries and pulls him close. Dries presses his face into Gonzalo’s shoulder and Gonzalo can smell the faint, familiar rain-shower fresh smell of his shampoo. 

Dries pulls back a little. He rests his chin on Gonzalo’s chest and says, soft and low, “Hey, Pipa.” And Gonzalo dips his head because his body hasn’t unlearned all the things he’s tried to leave behind. Dries tips up. He meets Gonzalo halfway and brushes his mouth across Gonzalo’s. 

His mouth fits along the Gonzalo’s the same as it always has. Tastes the same. 

Gonzalo jerks back. He lets go of Dries. 

Dries stumbles back. 

“Dries,” Gonzalo says, “What? You— We can’t—“ He glances back at Paulo. Paulo’s sitting up now, watching them. He’s turned off the television, leaving the room eerily quiet. And the look on his face is— Gonzalo doesn’t know. “We can’t,” Gonzalo says again.

Dries crosses his arms over his chest. “You didn’t tell him,” he says. 

And Gonzalo, for a crazy moment, wonders if he’s lost his fucking mind, stumbled into a universe where he and Dries are still— And—

Then Paulo says, “No. Thought it’d be a nice surprise.” 

And Gonzalo snaps back to reality because Dries was talking to _Paulo_ not to him. And _what?_

Dries runs his hand through his hair. “ _Jesus fucking Christ_.” 

“Will someone,” Gonzalo says, “Explain what the _fuck_ is going on?”

Dries huffs. “Think I’ll let Dybala explain.”

Gonzalo turns toward Paulo. “Well?” he says.

Paulo shrugs. “I thought it might be fun if the three of us…” He tilts his head to the side and smiles. “You know.” 

Gonzalo doesn’t. There’s something in the coy lilt of Paulo’s voice, the curve of his smile, something Gonzalo supposed to understand but doesn’t. He’s never been good at that. Reading between the lines. 

Dries laughs, harsh and not entirely amused, then says, “He wants us to fuck, Pipa.” 

Gonzalo swings back towards him. “What?” 

Dries lifts his eyebrows and says slowly, “The three of us, he wants us to fuck.” 

“And you, do you want that?” Gonzalo says, because he has questions, and that one’s not even the most important, but it’s the one that comes out first.

Dries shrugs. “I’m here, aren’t I?” 

_Why?_ Gonzalo almost asks. But doesn’t. Because the answer— Well. He turns back to Paulo. “You didn’t think you should’ve asked me first?” 

Paulo glances away for a second then looks back at him and says, “Would you have said yes?” 

“I—“ Gonzalo starts. He closes his mouth. He can’t answer like this. Can’t know what he would’ve said without Dries _here_. Without the taste of Dries still on his lips. “Uh.” 

Paulo smiles, smug and pleased, like he sees an answer where Gonzalo doesn’t have one. “You would have,” he says. And he sounds so _sure_ but Gonzalo’s _not_. He would’ve _wanted_ to to say _yes_ , he knows that much. And, in the end, maybe that’s the same thing. 

“So,” Gonzalo says, glancing at Dries then back at Paulo, “Uh, what now?“

“I think,” Paulo says, leaning back on his hands, “You should kiss him again.” 

Gonzalo licks his lips. “Uh,” he looks back at Dries. Dries isn’t looking at him. He’s staring at Paulo. 

“Go on,” Paulo says softly but with a smile that’s sharp as any blade, “Kiss him.” And Gonzalo isn’t sure if he’s talking to him anymore or if he’s talking to Dries. 

Dries turns toward Gonzalo. He smiles. “Well?” he says. 

Gonzalo takes a step forward. Then another. He stops in front of Dries. Dries tips his chin up. An invitation. Gonzalo looks over at Paulo. Paulo lifts one of his hands and makes a _go on_ gesture. Gonzalo ducks his head and touches his mouth to Dries’. 

It feels like kissing him for the first time all over again. Because there’s that moment, that heart-stuttering moment, where he doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, where the kiss is a possibility for anything, for better or for worse. 

Then Dries smiles against his mouth and says, “You call that a kiss, Pipa?”

Gonzalo laughs. “Fuck you.”

“ _Mmm_ ,” Dries says, the sound humming along Gonzalo’s mouth, “Kiss me, Pipa, c’mon.”

And Gonzalo does until Dries makes that soft, sound in the back of his throat, the one that always makes Gonzalo ache. He reaches up and threads his fingers through Dries’ hair. Dries makes an approving sound and opens his mouth for him. 

Then Paulo slides his hand along Gonzalo’s back and says, “Okay. Enough,” and Gonzalo stops. Pulls back. Paulo curls his hand along Gonzalo’s hip. “My turn.” Gonzalo turns towards the sound of his voice. “No,” Paulo says. He leans in. “Mertens, can I…” 

Dries’ mouth is still open. His lips are wet and reddened from their kiss. He smiles without closing his mouth. “Yeah,” he says, “Okay.” He lets Paulo come to him but he turns his face up for Paulo’s kiss. Gonzalo still has his hand in Dries’ hair. He slides his hand down along the back of Dries’ neck. Their kiss is slow, tentative the way a first kiss often is, but it’s— Gonzalo can’t look away. Gonzalo digs his fingers into the base of Dries’ throat. Dries shudders and makes a low, moaning sound. His mouth falls open and Paulo tilts his head and Gonzalo can just see the slide of his tongue into Dries’ mouth. He shifts a little and Paulo fists his hand tight in Gonzalo’s shirt, like he’s trying to hold him still. 

They come apart with a soft, lewd, smacking sound. Dries leans in and whispers something in Paulo’s ear that makes him glance at Gonzalo and smile, slow and pleased. Paulo straightens up. “You like watching that, Pipa?” he says, voice rough and pitched low, “ _Hmm?_ Like watching me kiss him?” 

Gonzalo swallows and fiddles with the hood of Dries’ ( _his_ ) sweatshirt. “Yeah,” he says, “Uh, yeah.” 

Paulo pushes Gonzalo’s shirt up and slides his fingertips under Gonzalo’s waistband. Gonzalo fists his hand in Dries’ hood. “You want,” Paulo says, stroking his thumb up and down Gonzalo’s stomach, “me to do it again?” 

“Sure,” Gonzalo says, and his voice cracks, “Yeah.”

Paulo smiles like he’s won something and says, “Okay. But kiss me first.”

Gonzalo lets go of Dries’ sweatshirt and turns towards Paulo. Paulo’s hand drags along his back. Dries moves and Gonzalo’s hand slips off of him. Gonzalo lets his arm drop to his side and keeps turning. He doesn’t look at Dries. Paulo tips his face up and Gonzalo kisses him. Paulo digs his nails into the small of Gonzalo’s back and presses his tongue to the seem of Gonzalo’s lips. Gonzalo opens his mouth for him. Dries makes a sound, a quick, harsh, sucked in breath. Gonzalo almost reaches for him, blind and grasping. Paulo slicks his tongue into Gonzalo’s mouth. Gonzalo clenches his hand into a fist. Opens his mouth for Paulo. Paulo’s kiss is slow and thorough and suffuses Gonzalo with an achy kind of heat that blooms along his skin and settles low in his belly.

Paulo pulls away and Gonzalo blinks. Paulo smiles. “Now watch this,” he says, like Gonzalo’s going to look anywhere else, then he turns away. Gonzalo turns with him, towards Dries. Paulo leaves his hand splayed across Gonzalo’s back, his palm warm against Gonzalo’s skin. Gonzalo lets himself look at Dries but he can’t read the look on Dries’ face. “Mertens,” Paulo says. And Dries looks away from Gonzalo and, this time, it’s Dries who comes to Paulo. He’s comes close enough that Gonzalo could reach out and touch him. He doesn’t. Just watches him turn his face up for Paulo’s kiss.

Their kiss is made of stops and starts, like they can’t quite work out how to fit together. Dries raises his hand, slides it along Paulo’s cheek, and curls it around the back of Paulo’s head. Paulo’s shoulders tense and he digs his fingertips into Gonzalo’s back. Dries tips up and murmurs something against his cheek. Gonzalo can’t make out the words but the tone— _God_. He recognizes it. Feels it like an ache in his bones as the soft, coaxing hum of it strokes along his skin like licks of flame. 

Paulo relaxes. His hand slides down Gonzalo’s back and nudges against his waistband. Dries drags his mouth along Paulo’s check then kisses him. The kiss is slow and open. Deliberate. A _show_. For him. 

Their mouths come apart slowly but they don’t separate. Don’t move apart. Dries’s hand is still curved along the back Paulo’s head. “So,” Dries says, his voice gone rough in a way that’s so achingly familiar, “Dybala, what—“ He reaches out, stops with his fingertips just brushing Paulo’s shirt. “Did you want to…” He trails off. 

Paulo moves forward, into Dries’ hand. He pulls Gonzalo with him, pushing his hand against his back. Gonzalo lets him. He comes so close his toes bump into Dries’ shoe. Dries doesn’t look away from Paulo. Dries flattens his hand against Paulo’s stomach. “This,” Dries says, he pushes his hand up Paulo’s chest, “Is this…“ He runs his fingertips along the edge of Paulo’s collar, along his bare skin. Paulo closes his hand into a fist and his knuckles press against Gonzalo’s spine. “You want us to,” Dries says, his voice dropping lower, sliding into that low, humming coax that always made Gonzalo want to give him anything he asked for, “Kiss, to touch, while Pipa watches.” He slides his hand down along Paulo’s throat and settles it on his shoulder. 

Paulo looks at Gonzalo. He’s flushed. His eyes wide. “Well, Pipa,” he says, flattening his hand against Gonzalo’s back, rubbing his fingers along Gonzalo’s skin in light, maddening strokes, “You want to see that, want to watch me do that?” 

Gonzalo glances at Dries, just for a second. Dries still isn’t looking at him. “Just,” he says, looking back at Paulo, “Watch?” Because he can’t have Dries so close and not touch, can’t—

Paulo digs his nails into Gonzalo’s back. He drops his eyes for a second, then he looks back up. “Of course,” he says, “You can touch me, Pipa. You know I like that.” The way he says _me_ , the way he stresses it, Gonzalo thinks it’s to make Gonzalo understand something. Something Gonzalo isn’t sure he wants to understand. Something he doesn’t want to heed.

Paulo slides his hand out from under Gonzalo’s shirt. He reaches in front of Gonzalo, his arm brushing against Gonzalo’s stomach, and settles his hand on Dries’ hip. Dries tenses, Gonzalo can see it in his shoulders, in the way his fingers flex against Paulo’s collarbone. Then he rolls his shoulders, like he does when he’s trying to relax himself, and says, “You want to kiss again or—“ He plucks at Paulo’s collar. 

Paulo pushes Dries’ sweatshirt and shirt up. High enough up to bare Dries’ skin. Gonzalo fists his hands so he doesn’t reach out. So he doesn’t drag his fingertips along that bared sliver of skin. Doesn’t satisfy his craving to find out if Dries’ skin still feels the same. “Let’s…” Paulo says, dragging his hand further up, baring more of Dries’ skin. Gonzalo bites his lip and doesn’t fit his hand along Paulo’s so he can— 

Dries hooks his fingers into Paulo’s collar and pulls his shirt up. “Me,” he says, “Or you?” 

Paulo glances sideways at Gonzalo. Then he drops his hand back to Dries’ hip. Dries’ shirt and sweatshirt slump down. Paulo looks back at Dries. Gonzalo looks up. “Me,” Paulo says.

Dries drags his hands down, settles them low on Paulo’s belly. Then he fists his hands in Paulo’s shirt. “Okay,” he says, pulling Paulo’s shirt up, “You want—“ He looks at Gonzalo. “Pipa to help?” 

Paulo nods. “Yeah,” he says, lifting his arms away from his sides as Dries’ pulls his shirt up, “Yeah.” 

“Pipa, ah, go behind him.” Dries glances at Paulo and Paulo nods. 

Gonzalo shuffles over. He doesn’t put his hands on Paulo until Dries says, “C’mon, Pipa, help me out,” because he wants Dries to talk to him some more, to ask him for things, to— 

“Right. Yeah,” Gonzalo says, settling the heels of his palms along the line of Paulo’s rucked up shirt. Paulo hums, a pleased and soft sound. Paulo’s skin is warm and plush under Gonzalo’s palms. He pushes Paulo’s shirt up.

Dries looks at him over Paulo’s shoulder, holds his gaze while they push Paulo’s shirt up. When they get it up as far as they can, Gonzalo lifts his eyebrows. Dries tilts his chin towards Gonzalo. “Lift your arms, _hmm_ , Paulo,” Gonzalo says. 

Paulo raises his arms. Once they get Paulo’s shirt past his shoulders, Dries lets go and says, “You got it, Pipa?” 

“Sure,” Gonzalo says, like this, Paulo’s arms raised, his t-shirt stretched between his arms, Gonzalo can’t see Dries anymore, “Okay.” He gets Paulo’s t-shirt off with a little help from Paulo (they get a bit tangled and Paulo mumbles,”Christ, Pipa, that’s my hair you’re pulling,” and helps him get his t-shirt off). Gonzalo drops Paulo’s t-shirt on the floor. And he can see Dries again but Dries isn’t looking at him. 

Dries gives Paulo a slow, obvious once-over. Paulo tips his chin up and says, “Like what you see, Mertens?” He says it like he knows the answer is _yes_.

Dries smiles. “ _Mmm_ ,” he says, reaching out, slow, like he’s giving Paulo the chance to object, “Yeah,” and trails his fingers along Paulo’s abs. Gonzalo steps forward, runs into Paulo’s back. 

Both of them laugh. And that, the two of them united against him even for a second, it’s— “What, Pipa,” Paulo says, leaning back into Gonzalo, “You need a closer view?”

“I think,” Dries says, and the corners of his mouth are turning down, like he’s fighting back a smile, “He does.” He flattens his hand against Paulo’s stomach. “After all it’s,” he leans in and drops his voice, like it’s just him and Paulo sharing a secret, “A fucking great view, isn’t it?” He slides his hand up and tweaks Paulo’s nipple. 

Gonzalo can hear Paulo’s sucked in breath, feel the way his chest expands against his chest. “Yeah,” Paulo says, voice gone hoarse, “Maybe—“ He shuffles back, presses fully against Gonzalo. “Maybe, he wants to be even closer. Do more than look.” 

Gonzalo settles his hands low on Paulo’s belly, his fingers brushing against his waistband. Dries’ gaze flickers down then right back up. “Like this?” Gonzalo says.

Paulo makes a soft, satisfied sound. “Just like that.” 

“So,” Dries says. He rolls Paulo’s nipple between his fingers. Paulo shudders then tenses against Gonzalo, like he’s trying to stop his reaction, to tamp it down. Dries smiles a little and does it again. Paulo sighs and squirms against Gonzalo. “What,” Dries says, “Do you want now?” He drags his fingers down along Paulo’s abs. Stops just above Gonzalo’s hands. Gonzalo actually opens his mouth, starts to— Snaps it shut. Dries pauses, like he’s waiting for answer. When Paulo doesn’t offer one, Dries skims his fingers through the scant gap between Gonzalo’s fingertips, and hooks a finger into Paulo’s waistband. “You want—“ He ducks his head, so he’s looking up at Paulo. Then he smiles, slow and open-mouthed, runs his tongue along his lips in a blatantly unmistakable offer. 

Gonzalo shifts from foot to foot. He can’t stay still. He’s too hot. His skin too tight. He bites his lip until it hurts because _he_ wants that, wants Dries on his knees, wants to see his mouth wet and stretched wide around—

“N-no,” Paulo says, low and rasping, “uh, not—not that.” 

“Then,” Dries says, dragging his fingers back up between Gonzalo’s fingertips, careful, in a way that can only be deliberate, not to touch Gonzalo at all, “What?” He draws his fingers up over Paulo’s chest, along the curve of his collarbone, up the line of his throat. It’s transfixing, Dries’ slender fingers sliding along Paulo’s skin. Gonzalo can’t look away. Dries touches Paulo’s jaw. “ _Hmm_? You going to get down on your knees for me, then?” 

Paulo turns away and Dries’ fingers slip off his jaw. Dries laughs, soft and low. “Yeah, didn’t think so.” He drags his fingers down Paulo’s throat. “But you want something, don’t you? Asked me here for something.” He traces the line of Paulo’s pec, presses his fingertips to his sternum. “Whatever it is—“ He tips up, leans in, close enough that his shirt brushes against the back of Gonzalo’s fingers, and says, right in Paulo’s ear, “You can have it. Just ask me for it.” 

“What if,” Paulo says, looking back at Dries, “I wanted to fuck you?” He doesn’t say it like a question. 

Dries settles back onto his heels. He smiles, beguiling and slow, a trap sweetly baited. He taps Paulo’s sternum. “Do you,” he says, “Want to fuck me?” 

Gonzalo holds his breath. Forces himself to keep his hold on Paulo light, to not dig his nails into Paulo’s skin. Paulo shifts, straightens up so he’s not pressed so close against Gonzalo, and says, “Yes,” solid, sure, no hesitation. Gonzalo bites his lip, keeps himself quiet, still. 

Dries drops his hand from Paulo’s chest. “Then,” he says, shrugging out of his sweatshirt and dropping it on the ground behind him, “You should fuck me.” 

Gonzalo lets out his breath. It comes out too fast. Harsh. Burning up through his chest and out of him.

“And—” Dries leans in again, into Paulo, who doesn’t move, doesn’t lean back. “I think—“ Dries glances at Gonzalo. They’re close enough Gonzalo could lean over and kiss him. He wants to, the craving like a hook sunk deep in his chest, pulling him forward. Dries smiles, like he knows, then his smile turns sharp, like Dries’ mouth would cut Gonzalo if he kissed him, slice him open, make him bleed. Dries looks back at Paulo. The kiss would’ve been worth it. Gonzalo presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He can almost taste the faint, coopery slickness of blood. 

“I think,” Dries says again, “Pipa should fuck you, while you’re fucking me.” 

Paulo sucks in a breath. Gonzalo does too. And he can’t stop his hands from tightening on Paulo. Can’t— Paulo slumps back into him. Lets Gonzalo take his weight. 

“Would you like that?” Dries says, “You in the middle. Fucking me while Pipa fucks you.” 

Paulo moans, low, soft, almost a purr. He tips his head back, rests it on Gonzalo’s shoulder. He’s flushed, pupils blown. “You want that?” he says, turning his face into Gonzalo’s neck, nipping him, quick and sharp. Gonzalo shudders. Paulo presses his open mouth, there, against Gonzalo’s still stinging skin. His mouth is hot. The scalding humid heat of it like a brand against Gonzalo’s skin. “ _Hmm_ ,” Paulo says, word buzzing on Gonzalo’s skin. Paulo turns away, looks back up. “Pipa, you want that?” 

Gonzalo licks his lips. “Do you?” he says and it comes out rough and cracking. 

“Yeah,” Paulo says, his voice dropping low, “Pipa. Yeah. I do.” 

Gonzalo swallows. “Then,” he says, sliding his hands down, pushing his fingertips under Paulo’s waistband, “Let’s do it.” 

Nobody moves after he speaks. Just for a second. They stand and stare. Paulo’s heavy and warm against Gonzalo’s chest. His bare skin damp with sweat under Gonzalo’s palms. 

Dries moves first. He pulls his shirt up and off. Drops it on top of his sweatshirt. “Okay,” he says. 

Gonzalo stares. Matches the reality of Dries to his memories. The hue of his skin. The contrasting shade of his nipples. The defined curve of his muscles. The faint trail of hair following down from his bellybutton. Gonzalo blinks. Sees double for second. Then his memories and reality settle together. And he—

Gonzalo makes a sound. Sucks in a breath. Dries looks up. His hands are on his waistband.

“Let’s do this,” Dries says. He holds Gonzalo’s gaze and starts pushing his pants down. 

Paulo turns in Gonzalo’s arms. “Yeah,” he says, fisting his hands in Gonzalo’s shirt and pulling it up, “Let’s.” He drags Gonzalo’s shirt up past his bellybutton then plucks at it and says, “Take this off.” Gonzalo’s hands are still on Paulo. He lets him go and pulls his shirt up. Paulo slides his hands along Gonzalo’s sides, taps his fingers in a stop-start rhythm against Gonzalo’s skin. 

When Gonzalo gets his shirt off, Dries is there, at Paulo’s back. Gonzalo drops his shirt on the floor. “So,” Dries says and he must touch Paulo because Paulo’s breath hitches, “Where do you want me?” He turns toward Paulo as he speaks, cutting Gonzalo out of his question. 

Paulo’s hands go slack on Gonzalo. “The,” he says, “bed.” 

“Okay,” Dries says and comes around Paulo to head for the bed. 

Gonzalo turns to watch him. Can’t resist. Paulo lets him go. Paulo laughs a little and says, switching to Spanish, “ _He has a great ass, no?_ ”

Gonzalo’s going to answer. He _is_. But Dries beats him to it, glancing back over his shoulder, smiling, quick, like a bright, blinding flash of light. “ _Thanks_ ,” he says matching Paulo’s language. 

Paulo startles a little. Gonzalo almost laughs because, well, because it’s about what Paulo deserves. 

“ _You speak Spanish?_ ” Paulo says. 

Dries laughs a little. “Not really,” he says, switching back to Italian, “But I’ve heard that one before.” 

Paulo glances at Gonzalo. “From you?” he says.

Gonzalo shakes his head because he’s not sure he can speak without laughing. He hasn’t thought about that night in Ibiza in _forever_. 

Paulo furrows his brow. “Then…” he says. 

“It’s—“ Gonzalo says, and he laughs, because he can’t help it, “Ah, it’s a long story.” 

“Right,” Paulo says, short and clipped, his expression shuttered, “Sure.” He pauses then says, “Take off your pants,” and leaves Gonzalo’s side without a backward glance. 

Gonzalo plucks at the waistband of his sweatpants but doesn’t take them off. Paulo is bent over his bag, rummaging around in it. Dries is sitting on the end of one of the beds. _Gonzalo’s_ bed. Though he can’t know that. 

Gonzalo lets himself stare. Because Dries is gloriously naked. Dries smiles and leans back on his hands. Showing off for Gonzalo. Gonzalo steps forward, drawn to Dries, like a moth to a flame. 

Then Paulo’s there, between him and Dries. He tosses condoms and lube onto the bed next to Dries. He glances over his shoulder. “C’mon,” he says, voice snapping with impatience and something else, something sharper, “Pipa. Take off your pants and come here.” 

Gonzalo ignores the first but does the second. He comes and stands behind Paulo, presses as close as he can. He slides his hands down Paulo’s stomach, pushes his waistband down. “What about you?” he says, into Paulo’s ear, so close his mouth brushes Paulo’s skin, “ _Hmm_ , Paulo, you leaving these on?” 

Paulo squirms. “T-take,” he says, the first word is stuttering and low but the ones that come after are harder, surer, “them off me if you want them off me.” 

Gonzalo pushes Paulo’s track-pants down his hips. He isn’t wearing underwear. He bends at the knee so he can drag Paulo’s pants down to his ankles. Paulo stands so still. Gonzalo taps his calf. “Lift your feet.” Paulo lifts his feet in turn and Gonzalo tugs his pants free and tosses them to the side. 

He stands up slow, rubs against Paulo as he goes, and Paulo shudders. “Happy now?” Paulo says, once Gonzalo’s done. 

“ _Mmm,_ ” Gonzalo says, curving his hand along Paulo’s hip, “For now.” 

Paulo huffs. “Fucking take off your pants already,” he says and steps out of Gonzalo’s hold. 

He stops at the foot of the bed, between Dries’ knees. “So,” he says, soft, hesitant now, “What—“ He stops. “Suggestions, Mertens?” Sharper now. Like he’s trying to repel his own hesitance. 

Dries scoots back. “Come here,” he murmurs, so low Gonzalo barely catches it, “Okay?” 

Paulo squares his shoulders, like he does sometimes before he steps onto the pitch, then climbs onto the end of the bed to perch between Dries’ thighs. “If you,” Dries says, and he’s still murmuring, low and almost indistinct, “Want to fuck me someone - you, me - has to get me ready.” Paulo doesn’t answer. 

Gonzalo looks away from them, from the straight line of Paulo’s back and tense set of his shoulders, and pushes his pants down and off. He kicks them away. 

“I can do it,” Dries says, “It’s—“ Gonzalo looks back just as Dries trails his fingers along Paulo’s arm.

“I’ll do it,” Paulo says cutting Dries off, “Okay?” I’ll—“ 

“Okay,” Dries says, curling his hand along Paulo’s elbow for second, then letting him go, “Okay.”

Dries lays back. Paulo stays kneeling between Dries’ bent knees, his feet hanging over the end of the bed. Paulo opens and closes his hands. Once. Then again. “Should we,” he says. He gestures toward the head of the bed. 

“This’s good. It’ll be good for,” Dries says, “when Pipa fucks you. Because that’s what you wanted isn’t, it Dybala? To fuck me while he fucks you.”

Paulo’s shoulders hitch. “Yeah,” he says. He pauses. “But, uh we’re kind of close to the—“ He shifts on his knees. “I mean, what if—“

Dries says, soft but sure, “Pipa won’t let you fall.” 

Paulo glances over his shoulder. Gonzalo takes it for an invitation. He comes over, stands between Paulo’s feet, and presses against his back. He doesn’t let himself stare at Dries laid out on his rumpled sheets. Doesn’t— He curls his arm around Paulo’s waist. “I won’t,” he says, “I’ve got you.”

Paulo shifts a little. “Yeah,” he says, “You do.” He pauses then he reaches out and trails his fingers along Dries’ thigh. And Gonzalo lets himself look now. Lets himself stare at Dries. Dries’s staring up at them both with wide, dark eyes. He has one arm draped over his chest. His knees are spread open in a wide v. Every part of him on display. Nothing hidden. 

“So,” Paulo says, dragging his fingers down along the inside of Dries’ thigh, “Let’s—“ He skims his fingertips along the crease of Dries’ hip then up along the line of Dries’ dick. “Do this.” 

Dries rolls his hips up. “Yeah,” he says, his voice faltering when Paulo drags his fingertips along the side of his dick, “Let’s.” 

Paulo elbows Gonzalo. “Can you—“ He tips his head toward the bottle of lube, ringed by a messy halo of condoms. 

“Sure,” Gonzalo says. He lets go of Paulo and leans over to grab the lube.

“Just—“ Paulo says, holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers, “Can you, you know—“ 

Gonzalo flicks the bottle open and squeezes a generous amount into Paulo’s palm. Paulo tips his hand, lets the lube slick his fingers. “Mertens, ah,” he says, “Can you lift up a little?” 

Dries brings his knees up, spreads his legs, and pushes his hands under his ass. Gonzalo has to look away. Has to focus on closing the lube, on tossing it back on to the bed. 

Dries makes a soft, breathy sound. Gonzalo looks back. He stays where he is, just to Paulo’s side, so he can see. So he can stare while Paulo rubs his slick fingers across Dries’ hole. Dries rocks up a little more. “C’mon,” he says.” Paulo presses his fingertip inside of Dries and Dries’ squirms. “Dybala,” he says and it comes out scraping and low but like a demand. 

“What, _hmm_ , Mertens,” Paulo says, soft and close to a taunt, “What do you want?”

“More,” Dries says. Paulo doesn’t say anything just works his finger the rest of the way inside of of Dries. “ _Mmm_ ,” Dries says, “Just like that, Dybala, C’mon. Give me more.”

Gonzalo’s transfixed, pressed so close against the end of the bed that the textured fabric of the bedspread is digging into his skin. 

“You think you can take more?” Paulo says, sliding his finger back out and pressing back into Dries with two fingers without waiting for an answer.

“Can take,” Dries says, arching up, “What—“ Dries’ breath hitches when Paulo pushes his fingers all the way inside him. “Whatever you’ve got.” He’s flushed. Sweat beading along his upper lip. His mouth is open, lips pink and slick. His chest rising and falling. He must be panting but Gonzalo can’t hear it, can’t hear anything over his racing heart, the rushing in his ears, his own want a desperate, pounding thing which overwhelms everything else. 

Paulo’s fucking Dries with his fingers. Gonzalo’s palms are sweaty. He can almost _feel_ the memory of Dries’ clutching heat around his fingers. Can almost— “Oh, yeah?” Paulo says. Gonzalo clenches his hands into fists. 

“Yeah,” Dries says, “C’mon. _C’mon_. This is— Give me more.” His tone’s tipping into desperate and he’s moving up into every thrust of Paulo’s fingers. 

“Like,” Paulo says, and his voice has gone rough, “This,” and he starts to work three of his fingers into Dries.

“ _Oh_ ,” Dries says, “ _Mmm_ , yeah, yeah, Dybala, just—“ Paulo’s fingers are all the way inside him now. “ _Fuck_. Just like that.” 

“You—“ Paulo’s voice breaks. “Ah, you ready for me to fuck you now, _hmm_ , Mertens?” 

“Y-yeah,” Dries says and it comes out stuttering, drawn-out sigh. He takes a slow shuddering breath. “Fuck me, _oh_ , c’mon.” 

Paulo pulls his fingers out of Dries. Dries makes a soft, discontent sound. “You—” Paulo says, voice wavering, low, almost like he’s talking just to himself, “ _Christ_. Mertens, you really—“

Dries squirms. “C’mon. Fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Paulo says, rough and low, “Okay. Okay. I’ve got to—“

“Pipa,” Dries says, and Gonzalo startles. 

He has to swallow before he can answer and his, “Yeah, Dries?” still comes out gravelly-rough. 

Dries licks his lips. And Gonzalo’s dick jerks because, _fucking Christ_ the sight of him. Of his wet, pink mouth. “Pipa,” Dries says again, “Help him, yeah? S-so he can fuck me.”

And it takes Gonzalo a second because he’s stuck on Dries saying his name, his voice roughened with want. It makes him feel hazy and too warm. He can’t focus. Can’t— He shakes his head. “Yeah,” he says, “Yeah. Okay.” 

He grabs for a condom. The packets are slippery under his sweaty fingers and it takes him two tries. He pushes the lube over so he’ll be able to reach it once he moves. He shifts over so he’s at Paulo’s back. “I,” he says, sliding his hand along Paulo’s hip, “M’gonna—“ He curls his hand around Paulo’s dick. 

“ _Mmm_ ,” Paulo says, “Yeah, Pipa.”

Gonzalo gives Paulo’s dick a quick stroke then lets go. Paulo makes a whining, frustrated sound. “Just—“ Gonzalo says. He brings his other arm around Paulo’s waist and tears open the condom. He drops the wrapper, doesn’t look where it lands, then rolls the condom onto Paulo’s dick. “There,” he says, “Now—“ He picks up the lube. He gets it open. Squirts some into his palm. Then he closes it. Tosses it back in the direction of the rest of the condoms. Then he curls his hand back around Paulo’s dick. Paulo hums, low and pleased. Gonzalo strokes him a few times, coats his dick in slickness. “Think,” he says, “You promised to fuck him.” 

“Yeah,” Paulo says, thick and syrupy slow, “Yeah. Ah, Mertens, you ready?” 

“Oh,” Dries says, “Yeah. C’mon.” 

It takes them a moment to arrange themselves in a way that works. They end up with Paulo bent over Dries, his legs spread wide, his knees lined up with Dries’ ass. Dries spreading his legs still wider, pushing himself up to meet Paulo. With Paulo bent over, his ass is right there. Gonzalo could lean in just a bit and rub against him. Let his dick slide between the cheeks of his ass. But he just watches. Waits. 

He can’t really see it, when Paulo pushes his dick inside of Dries, all he can see is the line of Paulo’s back, his ass. But he knows exactly when it happens because of the sound Dries makes. He would know that sound anywhere. It’s burned into his memory. 

“Mertens,” Paulo says, rough and low, “Ah. _Ah_. Christ.”

“ _Mmm_ ,” Dries says, “Fucking just like that. _C’mon._ ” 

“Oh,” Paulo says, the sound sliding into rough, low groan, “Fuck. _Fuck._.” 

“Yeah,” Dries says, strained and edged with impatience, “Do that. Fuck me, Dybala, c’mon.” 

Paulo does. And Dries moans, rough and guttural. “Like that Mertens?” Paulo gasps out. “ _Hmm?_ ” 

“Oh,” Dries says, stuttering and slow, “Yeah.” He pauses, and, for a moment, there’s just the wet, soft slapping sounds of them fucking. Then Dries says, “You, ah, _mmm_ , you ready for Pipa now? Ready to get fucked?”

Paulo stills. “I, ah, yeah,” he says, choppy and a little breathless, “Yeah.” 

Gonzalo doesn’t move, though, not until Paulo says, “Pipa, c’mon. I—I can’t—“ He moves, jerky and stuttering, starts to fuck Dries again. 

Gonzalo curls his hands around Paulo’s hips and squeezes. “You have to,” he says, “Be still, if—“ He splays his hands across Paulo’s ass, uses his thumbs to spread his cheeks apart. “If you want—“ He rubs the tips of his thumbs along the rim of Paulo’s hole. 

Paulo shudders and groans, low and shivering. “O-okay,” Paulo says, “I-I can— But you, ah, you have to— _Mmm_ , now, Pipa. _Now_.” 

Gonzalo can see the way staying still is straining him. See it in the shuddering tension in his shoulders, the way his arms are locked, the muscles standing out defined. See it in the sweat sliding down his neck, making his hair stick to the nape of his neck. He can hear him panting. Dries too. The sounds are like a stuttering, relentless staccato against his skin. 

He rushes prepping Paulo as much as he can. He doesn’t like to rush that kind of thing. Always likes to go slow, be careful, because he likes the way Paulo responds. But he tries to be faster. He fumbles the bottle of lube in his haste and almost drops it. Paulo holds himself still when Gonzalo has one finger inside him but, when Gonzalo slides in two fingers, he moves, pushing back, then rolling his hips forward. Dries grunts then murmurs something Gonzalo can’t make out, and Paulo stills again. 

Gonzalo barely has three fingers inside Paulo when he says, “E-enough, Pipa, s’enough. Just, _mmm_ , c’mon. _C’mon_.” 

“Just,” Gonzalo says, working his fingers the rest of the way inside him, “Little more.” He strokes his hand along Paulo’s back. “Little longer.”

As soon as he lets go of Paulo so he can get a condom and put it on, Paulo moves. Dries moans, low and guttural, and Gonzalo drops the condom. It lands on the floor between his feet. He doesn’t pick it up. Just grabs another one. When he’s finally ready, condom on, his dick slicked up, he says, “Okay, Paulo, ah—“ And Paulo stills before he can finish talking. 

He has to press against the end of the bed, so close the bottom of the mattress frame digs into his calves, and lean over a little. It makes him feel off balance, like he’s going to tumble over on top of both of them. He curls his hand around Paulo’s hip and that steadies him a little. Enough so he can push inside of Paulo. He starts off slow but Paulo won’t stay still for it. “Pipa,” he says, harsh and gasping, “ _Christ_. J-just— C’mon,” and pushes back until Gonzalo’s all the way inside him. 

It always dazes him, the heady feeling of having his dick inside someone, always takes him a second to find himself again, to do something, _anything_. Paulo’s never patient with that. Not— “Pipa,” Paulo says, sharp, “ _Pipa_ , c’mon.” And Gonzalo moves. Tentative. Just trying to get his bearings. 

He still feels off-balance. Too unsteady to really move. He digs his fingers into Paulo’s hip. Reaches out with his other hand. He stops with his hand centimeters above Dries’ thigh. He glances at Dries. Dries isn’t looking at him. Dries is red in the face, sweating, biting his lip the way he does when the pleasure is just sliding into too much. Gonzalo settles his hand on Dries’ thigh. Dries still doesn’t look at him. Dries’ skin still feels the same, like all of his most fevered memories, the ones that still sometimes wake him up at night, give him dreams that make him rut against his sheets. But having his hand on Dries steadies him. Grounds him. 

He moves easier. Fucks Paulo with slow, short strokes, never coming out of him completely. Paulo hums. “That’s it,” he says, “ _Mmm_ , c’mon, Pipa, want more, give me more.” Gonzalo fucks him faster, harder. Paulo moans, low and pleased, but under the sound of it Gonzalo catches Dries’ soft, unsatisfied sound. And he slows, his reaction to Dries’ displeasure so sunk inside of him, so much a part of him, that he can’t _not_. “Pipa,” Paulo says, impatient, “Don’t, ah, fu—“

“Dybala,” Dries says, cutting him off, “Move, _hmm_ , please, you, _ah_ , you’ve got to— _Please_ , c’mon.” 

“Ah,” Paulo says, low and strangled, “Yeah. Okay. _Fuck_.” 

And it takes him a few jerking thrusts before he gets it, before he catches some rhythm that Gonzalo can barely follow, and is rocking between them. Fucking Dries. Fucking himself back onto Gonzalo’s dick. Gonzalo does his best to move with him, roll his hips in time with Paulo’s movements. 

“That’s,” Dries says, soft and slurring, “ _Mmm_ , that’s it, _ah_ , fuck, there you go.”

Paulo doesn’t answer beyond a shaky, “Yeah, yeah,” just keeps moving. 

When Paulo’s breath starts coming in jagged pants, loud enough to hear over slapping sounds of them fucking, when he whines, high pitched and desperate every time Gonzalo rocks his dick into him, Gonzalo knows he’s going to come soon. The Paulo’s head drops down and he gasps out, “Ah, _ah_ , fuck—“ 

Gonzalo pushes into him, as deep as he can, and digs his fingertips against his hipbone. And Paulo comes, shuddering between them. Gonzalo’s not close enough to the edge for the clenching of Paulo’s body around him to make him come. So he holds onto him, fucks him through it with small, shallow strokes, until Paulo’s still. Until Paulo says, rough and slurring, “Pipa, _mmm_ , ah, n-no more. Can’t— Ah, fuck, can’t—“ And Gonzalo pulls out of him, slow and careful as he can. Lets go of him. Of Dries. Settles back onto his heels. Takes a slow deep breath because he’s still hard. Still— He clenches his hands into fists. Focuses on the bite of his nails into his palms. 

Paulo folds into Dries, like his arms can’t keep him up any longer. Dries drops his legs down. He cradles Paulo for a moment, his legs slung over the backs of Paulo’s thighs, his hands splayed along Paulo’s back. Dries glances Gonzalo then turns his face into the curve of Paulo’s neck and whispers something to him. Paulo makes a low, protesting sound. Dries pats his back and murmurs something else to him. Then Paulo pushes himself up and Dries lets him go. 

Gonzalo takes a little step back while they untangle themselves. Mostly so he doesn’t get kicked. Paulo ends up flopped on the bed an arms length or so away from Dries. His hair is sweat-damp and plastered to his forehead and he’s still flushed. He smiles at Gonzalo, slow and satiated. “You,” Gonzalo says, clearing his throat, “Ah, you good?” 

“ _Mmm_ ,” Paulo says, “M’good, yeah.” Gonzalo holds Paulo’s gaze for a beat, then another, then he looks away. 

Looks at Dries. 

Dries has pushed himself up the bed a little so his feet aren’t hanging for the end. His legs are open, knees bowed out, and Gonzalo can see his hole, slick and stretched from Paulo fucking him. He’s still hard. And he’s touching himself. Slow. His hand curled loosely around his dick. 

Gonzalo steps forward without thinking, right into the end of the bed. His want is like a thing he can _taste_ , like something thick and blood-hot on his tongue. “I want,” he says, and his voice is so gravelly-rough he hardly recognizes it, “Want to fuck you. Be inside you. _Fuck_. Dries. _Dries_ , please.” 

Dries glances towards Paulo and, _fuck_ , maybe Gonzalo should too, but he can’t look away. Can’t— 

Dries looks back. He arches up. “Yeah,” he says, low and a little rough, “Okay. Put on another condom and you can fuck me.”

Gonzalo glances down. “Right,” he says, getting the condom he still has on off, “Yeah.” He drops the condom on the floor. The lube and the condoms are still there on the bed between Dries and Paulo. Gonzalo grabs the lube and one of the condoms and scrambles onto the bed. 

He kneels there, for a moment, between Dries’ legs, just looking down at him. He almost wants to just lay down on top of him. Rub against him. Feel the hot, silky-smooth press of Dries’ skin against his. Tuck his face into his neck and just breathe him in. “Well,” Dries says, and Gonzalo blinks, “You going to fuck me or what?” 

“Yeah,” Gonzalo says, “I’m— Just—“ He drops the lube on the bed then rips open the condom. Puts it on and tosses the wrapper away. He slicks up hastily and tosses the lube away.

Dries watches him, lower lip tucked between his teeth. He’s still touching himself. Slow and steady. Gonzalo moves closer. He hooks his hand under Dries’ knee, pulls his leg up. Dries brings his other leg up, his calf brushing against Gonzalo’s side. “You,” Gonzalo says, brushing his fingertips over Dries’ hole, “You’re—“

Dries hooks his leg around Gonzalo’s back. “Yeah,” he says, smiling, “M’good. C’mon, Pipa.” 

Gonzalo pushes into him slowly because he wants to savor the feeling. Make it last as long as he can. Dries sighs when he pushes into him and Gonzalo wants to kiss him, to feel the sound against his mouth. 

Dries still has his hand on his dick. Gonzalo curls his hand around Dries wrist and pulls his arm up, pins it to the bed next to Dries’ head. Lets go of Dries’ leg and does it with his other arm. He wants to fuck him like this. Wants to hold him down, keep him in place. Dries smiles and arches up into him. “You think,” Dries says as Gonzalo starts to move, “ _Hmm_ , that you can make me come just from this?” 

Gonzalo leans in closer. “I know,” he says, “I can.” 

“ _Mmm_ ,” Dries says, “M-maybe, ah, maybe I wanted your hands on me, Pipa, maybe I mi—“ He presses his lips together and turns away.

“Dries,” Gonzalo says. He wants to press his mouth to the corner of Dries’ mouth. He leans down but he doesn’t. He stops. “Dries, let me, like this, ’kay, I— I’ll—“ Dries’ lips part and Gonzalo gives in and brushes his mouth across the edge of Dries’. “I’ve got you, okay,” he murmurs against Dries’ cheek. “Gonna make you come, make you— Just— Just let me.” 

Dries turns and they’re so close their noses are brushing. “Okay,” Dries says and he tilts his head, tips up, and touches his mouth to Gonzalo’s. He drops back down but Gonzalo follows. Kisses him. Soft and quick just like Dries had done. And Dries makes this low, wanting sound. Gonzalo kisses him again. Slower. Licks at Dries’ mouth until he opens it for him. 

Once he starts kissing Dries, he doesn’t want to stop. Dries doesn’t seem to either. He chases after Gonzalo when he pulls away to breathe, his wrists jerking up against Gonzalo’s hands, like he’s trying to reach up and pull Gonzalo back down. So they kiss and kiss and _kiss_ and Gonzalo fucks him, steady and slow. Until Dries is restless and squirming under him. He whines, and says against Gonzalo’s mouth, “Pipa, _Pipa_ , harder, please. C’mon, _mmm_ , please.” 

Gonzalo gives him what wants. Would, right then, give him _anything_ he asked for. Everything blurs around the edges. There’s the heat of Dries’ body, the slide of his skin against Dries’, Dries’ mouth against his. He can _feel_ the sounds Dries makes when he’s getting close. They buzz against his mouth. Then there’s the sound of them, soft, humming and guttural. He comes when Dries does. 

He manages to hold himself up until Dries stills, goes limp, beneath him. There’s a moment, when he’s slumping down on top of Dries, where he looks, and for a second, he sees Dries’ bedroom, the dark blue of his bedsheets, dark wood of his headboard. Then he blinks and there’s just the white hotel bedsheets. He closes his eyes. Lets himself sink down onto of Dries and pretend for a second that if he opened his eyes it’d be blue sheets he’d see. 

Dries tugs his wrists free. Gonzalo lets him go and is rewarded with Dries curling his arms around him. Stroking his hands up and down his back. Trailing his fingertips along Gonzalo’s spine. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that. It seems like a long time but also like no time at all. 

Then Dries pats his back, nuzzles against his throat, and says, “C’mon, Pipa.” He presses a kiss to Gonzalo’s chin. “Gotta let me up. I—I’ve got to—“

“Stay,” Gonzalo says. He doesn’t think he just— “Dries, stay.”

Dries goes rigid underneath him. He lets Gonzalo go and says, quiet and hard, “Pipa, don’t.” 

“Stay,” Gonzalo says again, desperate and not ready to let him go. 

Dries pushes at him. “Get off of me.” Then, when Gonzalo doesn’t move fast enough. “Fucking now.” 

Gonzalo scrambles up and off of him. Dries pushes himself up. “You don’t—” he says. He looks away then back again. “That—that isn’t—“ he says, his voice cracking, “something you get to ask me for.” He gets off the bed.

“Dries, I’m—“ Gonzalo says. 

Dries looks back at him and cuts him off. “Fucking don’t.” 

Dries gets dressed in a rush. When he’s done, he just says, “Uh, take care, all right, Dybala.” 

“You too, Mertens,” Paulo says, and the sound of his voice is like a slap. 

Then Dries is gone, without a goodbye, without looking at Gonzalo again, the door slamming shut behind him.

Gonzalo stares at the door for a long moment, like it’s going to open back up, like Dries is going to walk back through it. He licks his lips. He can just taste Dries on his mouth. Just— 

He turns. Slow. To Paulo. He’s sitting up, cross-legged, staring at Gonzalo, his mouth drawn into a tight line. “I,” Gonzalo says, “I’m—“ 

Paulo lifts his brows. “Sorry? You’re not.” 

Gonzalo looks away because Paulo isn’t wrong. 

“Anyway,” Paulo says, and Gonzalo looks back at him,“This was all my idea, wasn’t it?” He twists his mouth, almost a smile, but too sharp. 

Gonzalo doesn’t say anything. Nothing he can say now will be right. 

“Did he—“ Paulo says and he looks away, fiddles with the sheets, “Mertens, uh, did he—did he ask you to stay?”  


Gonzalo doesn’t want to talk about this. Not with Paulo. Not with _anyone_. But he feels like he owes Paulo something and if it can’t be an apology maybe it can be this. “No,” he says, “He didn’t.” Because he _knew_ Gonzalo, because he knew—

Paulo looks back at him. “Would you have?” He pauses. “Stayed, if he’d—“

“No,” Gonzalo says and it feels a little like spitting out glass. But it’s the truth and, here, now, that’s all he has to give Paulo. 

Paulo’s quiet for a moment and Gonzalo hopes that’s the end of it.

It’s not.

“I—I thought,” Paulo says. He looks away again. Plucks at the sheets. “Mertens and you, I thought—“ He looks back. “Thought it was like—“ He shrugs. “You know.” 

_Like you and me_ is what Gonzalo hears. Friends and fun and fucking and nothing too serious. And that’s the way Gonzalo talks about him and Dries. That’s what he’s told _himself_ about them, that that’s all they were. Because those are the kinds of things you can leave behind. Those are the kind of things you can put down so you can pick up bigger and more important things. But he can’t open his mouth and say it. Not right now. Dries’ taste on his tongue, the smell of Dries on his skin, and an ache in his chest that feels like a crushing weight. 

“I’m just—“ he says, turning his back on Paulo, scooting to the edge of the bed, “Just going to take a shower.” 

Paulo says something but he doesn’t catch it. He’s too busy trying not to trip over Dries’ - _his_ \- sweatshirt, which Dries left in the middle of the floor. 

He makes it to the bathroom. He’s still, somehow, got the condom on. He takes it off, ties it off, and drops it in the trash. He turns the shower on and steps right in. Doesn’t wait for the water to get hot. When it does heat up, it’s almost too hot, but he doesn’t turn it down. Just stands under the hot water until he doesn’t feel sticky anymore, until he can’t smell Dries, can’t smell sex. Then he scrubs himself off. Quick and efficient. 

He’s about to turn off the shower when Paulo comes in. “Leave it on,” Paulo says, “Would you?” 

Gonzalo shrugs. “Sure,” he says, stepping out of the shower. They edge past each other and Paulo steps into the shower. Gonzalo dries off and brushes his teeth then leaves Paulo to his shower.

Once he’s dressed, he’s not sure what to do. Paulo’s cleaned up a bit. He doesn’t see condoms or lube anywhere. But Gonzalo’s bed is still a mess of rumpled sheets. He can’t get in it. Can’t sleep there. 

So he goes and gets in Paulo’s bed, steps around Dries’ - _his_ \- sweatshirt, which is still in the middle of the floor, on his way. 

Paulo doesn’t say anything when he comes out of the bathroom. He just goes over to his bags, pulls out some clothes and gets dressed. Then he switches off the overhead light and comes and climbs into the bed. “You know,” he says, as he re-arranges his pillows into the configuration he prefers, “Mertens left his sweatshirt.” 

“It’s,” Gonzalo says, “Uh, it’s mine.” 

“Oh,” Paulo says, “Okay.” He pauses. “Could you, uh, could you switch off the light?” 

“Sure.” Gonzalo reaches over and switches off the bedside lamp. 

He settles down, shoves his pillow into the right place, closes his eyes.

“Pipa,” Paulo says. Gonzalo opens his eyes. He can just barely make out Paulo’s face in the dark. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m never going to ask you to stay.” And Gonzalo hears what he doesn’t say. _I won’t stay for you._

“I know,” he says, “Paulo. I know.”


End file.
